A Mother’s Tribute to her Son

He was 37. She was 18. They knew each other since last year. She was a nurse in the dispensary run by him. Today they married in simple ceremony. Rejected by seven girls a decade earlier, he had given up on the idea of marrying. But couples are made in heavens and this young nurse was the perfect bride for him. And now after the function was over, they were heading home. I was somehow able to go along, invisible. They were near their dispensary just to check if anyone was waiting for medical help. “Stop”, she screamed. She pointed her finger to the road side and we saw a body, a human body lying around. With 80 million people, this could be expected.  I didn’t understand why a petty matter like this should dampen the moods? We went near the body and it was a 12 year old girl. Badly beaten and bruised, in urgent need of medical attention. Although a nurse she was, but without any instruments, and even a first-aid box, what could have she done? And anyway it was their wedding night. So time to leave the girl where she was lying and head towards home. At least that is what every person would do, especially on their wedding night.

But these two were not any other persons and therefore, they didn’t do what every other person would do. Instead they took the girl to a hospital. They spent their wedding night, sitting besides the poor girl whom they even did not know. But she was a human, a living being and that was enough for them. After all, they were running the dispensary for the last few years only to serve the poor people without any motive for profit. I still can remember vividly the scenes of that fateful night. I wept. And those were tears of happiness. Someone somewhere was there to care.

Fast forward a few decades. Now I was standing at one of the busiest markets in Peshawar i.e. Sadar Bazaar. I was 63 years old. The month was August and the sweltering day was forcing the people to rush in that afternoon. The roads were deserted and even the people who swarm the market in their air-conditioned cars were nowhere in sight. Such was the intensity of the heat that day. But I was lost in another scene. An old man, 82-year old to be precise, was sitting right in the middle of the bazaar. It seemed like he was enjoying the sizzling heat. Although his old dress was soaked in sweat, he was in no hurry to leave. There was a certain kind of satisfaction in his eyes. Wondering, I went to him and stand by his side. I was shocked. Well, he was begging. What can be more heartbreaking for a mother than to see her 82-year old son begging in 50C heat? And that too in the month of Ramadan, fasting? So I scolded him that he had done enough and now should rest. He replied, “Mother, if I do not do this, your other children will die of hunger. They are hungry and waiting for me to buy them some food. They did not have anything for their Sehri and fasting whole day; they will not have anything to break their fast in the evening. O mother, do you wish them to die? O dear mother, the kids are asking for new clothes and toys for the Eid. How can I rest? When they hold me with their little hands and ask expectantly that what they will wear this Eid, what should I reply? I cannot see them weeping with tears in those little eyes. O mother, allow me to do my work. O mother, I cannot rest and I will not rest until all your children are fed and sheltered. Or as long as the last breath has left my body.” I wept and with me wept the heavens.

That was not the first time either that I saw him begging. He did it in Karachi, in Lahore and in Quetta. In fact he started begging all the way to England and back 60 years ago. And he was not ashamed. I told him that at least he should buy some new dresses and a new home. He has every right to spend the money he “earns” so hardly. But every time his reply makes me weeping and I quit asking him. It was Friday. Like every other Friday, I waited for him in vain. He never comes home on Fridays. Instead, I saw him with some special kids, the unwanted babies thrown by their “mothers”. He was bathing them. And then eating with them and took all of them with him to the Friday prayers. He has been doing this for years.

He still lives in a 2 room small apartment with his wife and children. They have no salary and are living on the income that comes from the securities they bought decades ago. About 2 decades ago, somebody told me that he now holds the record for working the most consecutive days without any rest. I smiled and I wept. I wept because I know his notion of work. It is not a white collar 9-to-5 job. His day starts at Fajar, well before dawn. And it ends around midnight. And at night he sleeps on a mat on the floor! Now that two more decades have passed, it makes the record as 59 years and counting. For you, it is mere another record. But for a mother, it is awfully painful. I wept every moment of those 59 years, thinking about my son. He even did not find time to attend the wedding of his daughter as he was busy elsewhere attending to those needy people. And when he along with his wife, Balquis, went to Hajj (Pilgrimage to the Holy Ka’ba), it was in an ambulance full of medical supplies! I wish I had a few other children like him and my conditions would have been a lot better. But alas! I don’t know for how long I will weep with my son. I am his mother, Pakistan. He is my son, Abdul Sattar Edhi.

P.S. Some of you people are campaigning for a Nobel Peace Prize for my son, but I cannot accept the Prize that they gave to Obama. There is a hell of a difference between our notions of peace. For me, and for my son, there can be no greater reward than the fact that Edhi is the most respected name in Pakistan, irrespective of religion, cast or sect.

P.S. Edhi left this world on 8th July, 2016. RIP

Also published in Express Tribune Blogs.

First posted on 29.08.2011, I posted this again as today is Mr. Edhi's Brithday. He turned 85 today! Many many happy returns of the day to you.


Please think of the poor and needy people around you every time you eat at some expensive restaurant, or buy some expensive clothes. Let’s help someone this Year.

Happy New Year to you all.

(As everyday of his 60 years' work is a story, a simple blogpost is just a drop in the ocean. I just wanted to pay tribute to the work of this great man. For detail of the work done by Edhi Foundation, visit their official website. Visit individual pages of Abdul Sattar Edhi and Balquis Edhi to learn more about their lives. Or read a tribute by Telgraph and a tribute by Saudi Aramco World.)